The Invisible Wall
by The Beautiful Filth
Summary: She thought she was setting him free. She thought she regretted sending him away, but no. Regret and guilt didn't even cover the raw emotions gnawing at her heart. (Inspired by "The Invisible Wall" by the GazettE) Oneshot. Complete.


**I know I'm supposed to write Metamorphosis, and that I said I'd write Deceptive, Glittering Blonde Strand before this, but I've had this idea for a while (A story for our Mother!) and the scene between Genevieve and the Firstborn just matched everything that I have in mind. I hope you'll like it! It'll present Genevieve to you in a different light I hope xD I've changed my views on Genevieve after the latest Now Airing chapter, by the way :P**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Cause of Death, nor the song The Invisible Wall. (check out the PV of this song - it's amazing!)**

* * *

_"Run, run away, Alex! And don't ever, ever come back!"_

As she scrutinized the man with the bandaged face before her, she couldn't believe it. Her son, standing right before him, a slim, long, deadly dagger clutched in his hand. _Just like before_, she mused. He used to take his dad's delicate porcelain dagger whenever he _felt_ the need to kill. To rid the earth of people who defied him. To protect himself. To show her his worth.

He did.

La Madre de Muerte was completely terrified of him.

She was afraid of her own creation. Her own flesh and blood. Her son, who was supposed to love her and be loved by her, who wasn't supposed to be attempted to be killed, sent away and living the life of a serial killer whose best friend was solitude, hatred and darkness.

He had become the type of people that she tried desperately to protect him from.

He was her son.

He was her Alex.

He was their angel.

She took his life away by sending him away. She killed her son by pulling the trigger of Angel's gun.

_"Oh, buck up, Mother, You've lost a child before. You were able to find plenty of replacements."_ Those were his words, filled with malice, disgust and hate.

True, she didn't deny that she _had_ lost a child before, that she _had_ found plenty of replacements; but none of them could be the firstborn. _Her_ firstborn.

To him, she denied his birthright. She denied her identity as Alex Dominguez. She denied his existence.

And now, she was going to pay the price in full.

He could finally taste the sweet taste of vengeance on the tip of his tongue.

When his Mother, la Madre de Muerte, was gasping in shock, gazing at him with fear, sadness and love, he was determined to eradicate all emotions in her eyes.

All, everything - except for darkness.

* * *

_"Congratulations, it's a boy! How would you like to name him, Mr. and Mrs. Dominguez?" The OB-GYN nurse handed a tiny bundle to Joana, Dominguez, later known as Genevieve Collins, who was staring at her son with adoration._

_"Angel, he is truly a saint, isn't he?" Joana whispered, softly cradling the snoozing infant in her arms._

_"Yes, Joana, he truly is," Angel Dominguez smiled, giving his wife a swift peck on the lips. "How about Alexander?"_

_Joana contemplated for a while, before nodding with a smile. "Alexander William Dominguez. Hello, Alex."_

Things were so simple when she was merely Joana, nothing else; she didn't have to worry about keeping a low profile, about running Millbrook, about nurturing her children that she hoped could replace Alex.

Her love for Alex never faded; instead, it only intensified whenever she glanced at her other children. Her children would remind her of Alex's talent, his prodigious gift; but there was one thing that nobody could ever resemble Alex.

His cold heart, dark marble eyes that didn't betray any emotions. His poker face that was completely impassive when he murdered Benjamin and many other children. His swift motions that scared everyone, including Genevieve and Angel.

She loved him, there was no doubt in that. She loved Alex, even though he was a murder, a frightening talented and monstrous one that didn't flinch the slightest when he sat on the soil tinted with an angry crimson.

Crimson.

_It was his favorite color on her,_ she recalled.

He used to tangle his fingers through her maroon hair, commenting how soft it was, how delicate it felt, that it would look even better if it was dyed crimson instead of the natural maroon color that her hair held.

She would run to the department store when he was at school, grab a crimson hair dye, give her hair a fiery crimson tint before her son got home.

She loved him. She cared for him a lot. She was the one that he cried to when he couldn't sleep, that told him to be brave in school, that showed him love.

Problem being, Alex didn't reciprocate the love. Or, she didn't think he reciprocated the love.

They loved each other dearly. Alex loved his mother so much that it turned to hate, a destructive passion that drove him to carve more people, leaving a souvenir that nobody except for him could retrieve.

Genevieve's love for her son never diminished. Starting from the moment when she knew she had a chance of stillbirth, she ceased all physical activity, went solely on bed rest, ate all food that was meant to make him healthy. She even gave up her most treasured possession - a little crown that her parents gave her when she married Angel - for a person that would mean much greater than the crown.

Alexander William Dominguez.

She loved him. It never changed.

She wanted Alex to run away, to be free from society's constraints. She thought it was for the best, but no.

Guilt, regret, remorse couldn't even cover what she was feeling right now.

She was feeling guilty, thinking that she had caused him to harden his dark and cold heart. She believed that she stripped him of innocence - after all, who would have a fun-filled childhood when he had no parents to depend on?

Remorse was overpowering all her emotions as everything crashed in. An invisible wall had erected between Genevieve and the Firstborn - they both were different now.

Genevieve used to be Joana, the mother that doted on Alex, that strived for perfection, that would have a panic attack if she didn't get Alex his favorite ice-cream.

The Firstborn used to be Alex, the one that used his father's dagger to kill his peers without a blink of an eye, that used to feel sadness and love, though buried deep in his heart.

Joana was now Genevieve Collins. Senator Collins' wife, the operator of Milbrook Institute, la Madre de Muerte.

Alex was now the Firstborn, much feared by everyone, including his own Mother.

Genevieve sighed as she retrieved a sailboat she employed to get to her spider's lair. She had hurt her only child, and the mistake could never be reversed. The wound, though healed, was irrevocable. Words couldn't do justice to the emotions coursing through her, pulsing through her thin, throbbing veins.

She thought she was setting him free. She thought she regretted sending him away, but no. Regret and guilt didn't even cover the raw emotions gnawing at her heart.

She was stuck in a maze without an end, unable to find a reason to breathe anymore. Her heart held a hole where only Alex could fill completely, but it gradually was ignored as she assumed that her Alex was dead already.

Her mind flickered gradually to her other children. Eric, Shawn, Leah. Angelic names, exquisite craft, astonishing talent and gift.

_Did you ruin their lives?_

Sometimes, she would question her decision. She transformed her traumatized child into heartless serial killers, out to exercise their craft, uphold justice in the world - or so she thought.

When her children turned against her, she was devastated. She couldn't believe that her children could defy her after being nursed by her for so long.

How could people throw her care and affection away voluntarily, when her Alex, her own flesh and blood, was stripped of love involuntarily?

She wasn't one to show much emotions, but a stray tear escaped her eye.

_I'm sorry._

* * *

_~ Pig that is soaked in a soup of lie_  
_Is it the pain of children whom you murdered?_  
_Hate yourself ~_


End file.
